Cranberry Juice
by fabala-fae
Summary: "...drinking cranberry juice like it was wine..." A P/A dare posed by Steph ;)


Title: Cranberry Juice  
  
Disclaimer: If I dare to claim Benton, Steph might hunt me down But unfortch, the lot of them are NBC's.  
  
Notes: This was a challenge posted at FF to write a fic where Abby and Benton become interesting friends . . .  
  
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Abby's bright, public, fake as hell smile faded as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. The murmurs of the crowd of people in the living room silenced once she closed the door behind her, and before she could take a sigh of relief - she noticed she wasn't alone in the kitchen.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be out with the party?" she questioned the man leaning against the counter, as she sank into a kitchen chair and propped her chin in her hand.  
  
Peter Benton flashed her an almost invisible smirk. "I should ask you the same thing," he retorted. "Aren't you the guest of honor?"  
  
"Not exactly by choice," she reminded him, burying her face in her folded arms. "I hate Carter."  
  
Peter chuckled and shook his head amusedly. "I've never known him to go halfway on anything," he admitted, taking a sip from his wine glass.  
  
There was a silence in the room that felt almost comfortable, until a shrill giggle came from the next room and Abby shuddered.  
  
"Don't worry," he assured her. "This isn't the worst he could have done."  
  
Abby stared at Peter suspiciously. "He invited the entire County staff to his *mansion* for an enormous birthday party that I didn't even want," she stated. "What could be worse?"  
  
He was quiet for a moment, and his indifferent smile suddenly cracked into an amused grin. "Belly dancers," he murmured, sipping his drink once again.  
  
"What?!" Abby shrieked, lifting her head and turning towards Peter.  
  
"Belly dancers," he stated, a little louder and much more sheepishly.  
  
"When was this and why wasn't I there?!" Abby exclaimed.  
  
"Ehhhh," he shrugged.  
  
"Oh come on," Abby prodded with a grin. "You can't throw something like that out there and expect me not to be curious!"  
  
"He was still my student," Peter admitted. "He thought it was my birthday."  
  
"And it wasn't?"  
  
Peter shook his head and sipped his drink. "It was bad."  
  
"Oh my God!" Abby laughed. "I can't believe I never heard about this!"  
  
Peter chuckled and glanced at the ground. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's blocked it from his memory."  
  
"Did you yell at him?" Abby asked devilishly.  
  
He shrugged again. "Don't really remember...that time's kind of a blur for me."  
  
Abby nodded and stood up lazily. "He was that bad of a student, huh?"  
  
"No," Peter considered. "He was...a challenge."  
  
Abby smiled as she stepped over to the refrigerator. "So were you, from what I've heard," she mentioned. "Every story he tells me about his med school days he tells it like some horror story."  
  
He chuckled and shook his head. "That doesn't surprise me at all - I'm pretty sure he hated me by the end."  
  
"No, no," Abby insisted. She opened the refrigerator but looked up at Peter as she spoke. "He's never hated you. Everything he ever says about you finishes up with some long tribute about you and your dedication and how he never measured up in your eyes..." She shook her head and turned back to the fridge. "He's one step away from erecting a statue in your honor in the gardens."  
  
When she closed the fridge, pitcher of iced tea in hand, Peter hadn't said a word. He was looking away from her, staring at some unseen spot on the floor...and Abby immediately felt guilty about bringing it up at all. Suddenly she wracked her mind for something to say, just to get him talking again...  
  
As long as she had been working with him she knew him to be an abrupt, closed off man and had generally avoided contact with him. But now that he was working across town, it was like they could act like distant friends who had been reunited, not colleagues who had never talked to each other. He seemed much different than he came off in the trauma room - he had a subtle sense of humor, a softer demeanor than she would have expected, and a sweet smile that he kept hiding behind that wine glass. "He still has your appendix," she offered.  
  
It took Peter a few seconds to wake from his silent trance and look up at her. "What?"  
  
"Your appendix. He still has it in a jar in the living room," she elaborated, pouring herself a glass of iced tea. "It was the first thing he showed me on our first date."  
  
Peter stared at her for a few moments with something that looked like vague horror. "You're kidding."  
  
"Nope." She set the pitcher down and took a sip from the glass. "If I wasn't afraid that they're all going to sing to me out there, I'd show you right now."  
  
He shook his head and scrubbed his hand over his face. "He's such a freak," he mused with a chuckle.  
  
"You're telling me," Abby commented. She watched him closely - he was either thinking, or ignoring her, or very interested in the floor tiles. "I should thank you, then," she added softly.  
  
He finally looked up again. "You?"  
  
"You must be an incredible person if you can shape someone like Carter," she told him, and a slight flush reached her cheeks as she realized what she was saying. "Sorry, I. . ."  
  
"No." His eyes finally met hers, and for perhaps the first time in Abby's life, she saw him smile. It was a genuine, wide smile that Abby assumed he reserved for those who deserved it - Dr. Finch, probably, and his child . . .  
  
"How is your son?" she asked politely, breaking the silence with small talk. "Ryan, or Robert, or . . . I'm sorry . . ."  
  
"Reese," he supplied. And suddenly there was a warmth surrounding him, a gentle expression built upon the smile he'd given her only seconds ago. "He's doing great. He's reading books faster than I can buy them for him."  
  
Abby nodded and smiled, the typical body movement to use when someone was bragging on their kid - but she was sincerely interested. "Going to be a surgeon like his dad?"  
  
"Not if I can help it," he chuckled. "I don't need the competition."  
  
She laughed fondly. "You should bring him by the hospital sometime, come and visit," she recommended. "Maybe you and Dr. Finch can come by for a day."  
  
"Ehhhh," he shrugged, and Abby recognized the mannerism as the same he'd used when talking about Carter as a student. He didn't like discussing the hospital, apparently. "Maybe."  
  
"How's Dr. Finch, then?" she asked politely.  
  
"She's good - she loves being out of the ER," he answered. "Can't blame her myself...it seems like life's too complicated to involve yourself in that kind of frenzy for too long."  
  
Oh, she knew where he was coming from, all right. "Do you miss it?"  
  
He shrugged again, but it seemed like he was trying to think of an honest answer. "Not as much as I thought I would," he finally told her.  
  
"Not even the people?"  
  
His intense stare was cast upon her once again, and even though Abby knew there was no chance - no possibility - no need, since she had Carter and he had Finch - there was a sexual tension that nearly forced her gaze to the ground. "Maybe the people," he answered. "A little."  
  
She looked up at him again, and in a somewhat desperate attempt to break the tension, she reached over for the bottle of red wine. "You're low," she observed, gesturing to his wine glass. "Want a refill?" "Oh, no," he told her distractedly. "It's cranberry juice. I don't drink."  
  
She nodded vaguely. There he was, staring at her again - did he know how much power those eyes truly had? Could he feel the pull she was feeling? Could he really be the demigod Carter made him out to be, but still be the man leaning on the kitchen counter, drinking cranberry juice like it was wine and staring at her like -  
  
"Abby, there you are," came a voice behind her as the sounds of the party filled the kitchen once again. She whirled around quickly to face Carter, who was gazing at her with both affection and irritation. "Everyone's asking about you, wanting to shower you with love and presents, and you're hiding out in the kitchen with Dr. Benton?"  
  
Abby shrugged. "Ehhh."  
  
"And you," he teased Benton, "should be ashamed of yourself. I knew you hated your own birthday, but to extend it as far as to hold Abby hostage during her own?"  
  
Peter chuckled and took the last sip of his juice. "Just shut up, Carter," he replied, standing up from his position and moving to leave the kitchen, "and kiss her already."  
  
Abby stared at Peter as he left, aghast, while Carter just grinned. "Too bad I don't have to do what he says anymore," he chuckled, casually wrapping his arms around Abby's waist. "What the hell, for old time's sake..."  
  
Abby was barely listening, still reeling from the encounter with Benton, until Carter's lips brushed hers and the kiss had begun. Slowly she woke up and joined the world of the living - slowly she leaned closer to Carter and kissed him back softly. The tenderness between them was enough to clear her mind of Benton and the party and everything surrounding them. "Happy birthday," he murmured against her lips.  
  
"Hmm, you don't mean that," she commented softly.  
  
"Of course I do!" He shook his head and kissed her once more. "Why wouldn't I?"  
  
"Because you organized this huge . . . thing," she scowled. "You know I hate parties."  
  
He was quiet for a moment, and gently pulled her closer. "Want to go, then?"  
  
"I can't leave my own birthday party," she grumbled.  
  
"Of course you can." He leaned back slightly to smile at her. "I'll get your coat and we'll go to your place."  
  
Abby stared at him, but eventually broke into a smile and wrapped her arms around his neck. "That sounds better," she grinned, and before she could kiss him, he leaned in and kissed her again.  
  
"I'll be back," he promised, and he was out the door before Abby could tell him not to be a social butterfly on the way. With a sigh she stepped outside to the party, where she was remarkably unnoticed . . .  
  
. . . except for one pair of eyes, on one certain face, who was leaning against the wall and sipping a full glass of cranberry juice.  
  
She tilted her head, bewildered. Suddenly she felt Carter's hands brush her hair away from her neck and slip her coat onto her shoulders - as he assisted her in sifting through the crowd, ignoring all questions of "Abby, where are you going", she met Peter's eyes once more . . .  
  
. . . and he winked at her. 


End file.
